Blood in the Water (4 page)

This is gonna be a big one.

The other van door shuts, the engine revs, and I’m shoved
into the person next to me with the force of acceleration as we
peel out of the garage. I look around; a serious-faced young woman
with closely shorn reddish hair, who appears to be about twenty,
leans forward, meeting my eyes. She’s wearing a fancy-looking
bluetooth device and could probably snap me in half with one hand,
judging by the thickly corded muscles bulging under her shirt
sleeves. Warrior for sure
, and she could
be in the regular military with that buzz cut.
The girl’s deft fingers are assembling a large,
confusing-looking gun, but she doesn’t even look down. I
do.

Ooh, shiny.

“
All right, weave, you’re new, we’re not.
Like Zav said, you do
exactly
what I tell you.”

Zav? You’re best friends, I take it?
I shut my mouth firmly.
My
inner commentary always gets sarcastic when I’m
scared, and it can be a problem, especially when I don’t manage to
keep my thoughts to myself. I’m resolute that that won’t happen
this time. This is too important.

“
Order of command goes me first—Louise, Bravo Sierra
command.”

Perfect, your call sign is ‘BS.’ How did no one notice
that?
I shake the thought off, determined
to pay attention. This is serious, now.

“
I go down, it’s Ruble.” She points at a rangy, coffee-skinned
boy with wild dreadlocks spraying in every direction and an
off-centre lip ring. He lifts his chin in friendly
welcome.

“
Then Milly,”—a Latina girl with impressive shoulders and a
pugnacious expression—“Danika,”—an older-looking white girl,
missing a front tooth when she grins—“And Paulie.” This one can’t
be more than fourteen, his confident hands sharpening a huge
hunting knife even as the van hurtles around corners at high
speed.

I hope
he doesn’t drop it; knowing my luck, I’d end up in the path of the
massive blade.

“
Then the warlocks, Barry and Jaz, either or.” She points at
the two remaining occupants of the van—a prematurely bald guy with
Irish colouring and an Asian girl, both reading rapidly, mouthing
words under their breath. The guy’s hands are glowing a deep, fuzzy
violet, indicating that he’s currently performing some kind of
spell.

Louise doesn’t seem fazed by the mystical energy whirling
round his fingertips, though, and keeps talking. “Then, if we
are
all
dead, you
can make your own decisions. But only then. Got it?”

I nod,
suddenly nervous, the seriousness of the van getting into my blood.
These people, some of them younger than me, have an air of
professional competence that’s easy to respect. “So … what’s
actually happening? I’ve never seen so many people
mobilised.”

Especially not me. I’m not even really trained; I’ve only
been out with Donnie before, and he’s a weave. He’s probably in one
of the other vans, so why aren’t I with him? What if I don’t know
what to do? Oh shit. I’m gonna screw this up.

Danika
reaches out and hands me something. It’s a small gun, cold and
heavy in my sweaty hand, and I almost drop it in shock. Louise
doesn’t even notice. Just keeps talking.

“
Sea Serpents in the Thames. Approximately a hundred breaches.
It’s a total cluster bomb—that’s why you’re here. Even if every one
of our nineteen London weavers makes it in time, you’ll still have
to close five or six rifts each. And they’re under water, so that
adds an extra layer of complication. We have to split up, time is a
huge factor here.”

My eyes
widen as my earlier thoughts from class flood over me again, and I
check that the safety of the handgun is on before placing it
gingerly on my lap. I have had precisely two lessons actually
shooting a firearm. The boy next to me, dreadlocked Ruble, taps me
gently on the shoulder, and when I look, is holding up a leather
armpit holster. He has a sweet tattoo on the inside of his wrist, I
notice. A swallow, right where my stitches are. I reach out and
take the holster with my heart pounding in my throat. As the van
skids to a halt, engine still running—red light?—I gather my
nerve.

“
So ... if the breaches are under water, why doesn’t the
Thames drain out through them?”

The female warlock snorts a laugh and looks up from the book
she’s been flicking through, a disdainful expression on her
heart-shaped face. “’Cause there’s water on the other side, hence
the Sea Serpents finding their way through. Sea to sea. It’s not
like they can fly! Breaches can’t open unless the environment on
the other side is almost identical. Else we’d all get sucked into
space or our seas would fill up with acid or something. Not much we
could do about that! The world would have ended millennia ago. Did
you sleep through the first lesson in Dimensional Physics, or what?
How new
are
you?”

Ah. Maybe I should start paying attention in class.
I flash an awkward grin and pick at a frayed spot
on my jeans. “I guess I was absent that day. So … Sea
Serpents?”

Louise
cocks her head to one side, clearly listening to someone speaking
through her bluetooth, and after a few moments looks around at the
waiting van. “All right, Bravo Sierra, we’ve been allocated the
two-mile patch with the fewest breaches, in deference to the
newbie. The first teams are already on site, and their warlocks
have marked out zones so we don’t tread on each other’s toes.
Spotters reckon there’re about forty Serpents; biggest looks like
he’s around one hundred metres. The area is being cleared for a
couple of miles on either side of the river—flood warnings—and the
police are already setting up a perimeter to help us out. Bonnie’s
on site, coordinating the whole operation. Teams are gonna pen the
Serpents in further up and downriver; they’ve got their warlocks
building magical barriers to turn ‘em around. Our job is to chase
‘em back from whence they came, or kill ‘em, and, primarily, close
the breaches. That means you, small-fry. Pick a guard.”

I
swallow, aware that all eyes are on me. The dedicated, serious eyes
of people who probably never skipped a class or caused a delay
getting to a multiple-breach site because they were necking instead
of studying. “Uh, a guard?”

Relax, would you? You’re just saving the world from being
overrun by monsters, it’s not bloody military school.
Which I was supposed to go to before the
Protectorate hauled me out, so I guess I should be grateful. This
is obviously much better. Right?

Louise
rolls her eyes impatiently and gestures around the van. “We’re
working in pairs. You need a guard to drive and watch your back
while you’re doing your thing.” She waggles her fingers in the air,
obviously imitating magic. “Pick someone.”

Drive? Do we get submarines? That would be cool. And safe.
Very, very safe.

I chew
my lip for a moment, and then glance at Ruble. He smiles, and I
shrug. “I’ll go with Ruble, then. If that’s okay?”

Cuz you’re kind of bitchy, and he’s kind of cute. And
presumably competent, if he’s second in line.

Louise
nods and looks me over, puffing air out of her nose. “Didn’t have
time to change, I see? Your pants and boots are okay, but you need
a better shirt.”

I look
down at my fashionably ripped band shirt, which is faded to
washed-out grey but has Sid Vicious still clearly visible, giving
the finger to anyone paying attention, and grin. “What, you don’t
like the Pistols?”

Ruble
laughs softly and rummages under the bench seat, grabbing a duffle.
“Here ya go. Roll the sleeves up.”

I grab it and look inside to find a black combat shirt with
more pockets than seems necessary for anything short of camping for
a week, and a reinforced but sleeveless leather jacket. I grin
broadly.
Nice!

“
Aw, hell. If I’d known I’d get a sweet leather jacket, I’da
come out Serpent hunting weeks ago.”

I hand
my gun to Ruble, stock first, and then haul my tee over my head,
making the young kid, Paulie, gasp. Unable to hide my smirk, I yank
on the combat shirt, buttoning it at high speed. He’s flushing
bright red with his eyes squeezed shut, and I roll mine.

“
Imminent death, I didn’t think we had time to find a changing
room.”

Louise scowls at me, jaw clenched. “Start taking this
serious, newbie, or we’ll leave you in the van. Breaches be damned.
You could die out there, and if you mess up, someone else
will
die.”

I get that it’s serious business, but you obviously do not
get my sense of humour. That’s cool. Remind me to never invite you
to a tea party.

I
put on my most reliable face,
furrowing my admittedly heavy brows, and thread my holster over my
arm, clipping it shut as professionally as I’m able. I only fumble
once, and don’t shoot anyone, so decide to count it as a
win.

“
Sorry. I react to abject terror with inappropriate nudity and
jokes. It’s something I’m working on with my therapist.”

Louise
doesn’t appear to catch the sarcasm, and nods briefly, but Ruble
chuckles under his breath and when I glance at him, he’s got a
smile tucked into the corners of his full mouth.

I’ve
just finished settling my holster in place over my leather jacket
when the van squeals to a halt, making me slam into the male
warlock, who steadies me with one hand, not even looking as his
mouth continues to move in rhythmic chants. No one else skidded at
all.

Stupid low centre of gravity. How come I didn’t get any of
the cool powers that stop you making an idiot of
yourself?

I keep
out of the way as the warriors efficiently gather up their
equipment and bundle out of the van, following Ruble, who is
hefting a clanking bag. The warlocks seem to be staying behind—for
now, at least.

THE VAN IS PARKED DOWN
from Waterloo
Bridge, with the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben gleaming in the
distance. Louise, Ruble, and the other warriors of Bravo Sierra
book it at a speed that would leave Usain Bolt in the dust toward
one of the major wharfs, where ferries pull in. I race after them,
deciding after one hundred metres that I’m definitely going to
start going to the gym every day.
Or at
least three times a week. Okay, twice.
I
make a mental note to inform Cam of this decision so the big
warrior can haul me out of bed.

It’s
eerily quiet around us, the streets not crowded for once, the
usually bustling bank completely devoid of traffic and foot
passengers. I shiver, impressed by the power the Protectorate
wields, that they’re able to clear one of the busiest parts of
London in less than forty minutes. When I make it, panting, to the
team, they’re clipped into impressive combat jackets and even the
warlocks have somehow beaten me to the group.

Why don’t I get one of those sweet rigs?
One look at the multiple carabiners and weird zips allows me
to answer my own question
:
Because I have no idea what any of that
does.

Below
us, the water is frothing and foaming, huge shapes milkily visible
beneath unnatural waves. A sinuous flank twists clear of the
surface of the river, liquid gushing off it like a waterfall, and I
move closer to the team.

The
Irish-looking guy, Barry, is gazing out over the water, frowning.
“Shit, guaranteed some wannabe journalist has snapped a few
pictures. I’m gonna be up all night rejigging memories after we
deal with the wrigglers.”

The rest
of the team looks organized, standing close behind each other in
pairs. Apparently in my absence they’ve gone over some sort of
plan. Louise is with the female warlock, Paulie is behind Barry,
Milly and Danika make a third team, and Ruble is impatiently
gesturing for me to stand behind him.

Oh,
they’re all standing on something.

I hurry
to my place, inspecting the shiny, oval object under my partner’s
feet as I approach. It’s about three feet long, two wide, and maybe
a couple of inches thick. Whatever it’s made from is translucent,
so that I can see colourful swirls of magic dancing inside the
layers of what could be glass. The surface is heavily crosshatched,
presumably for our feet to grip.